


Sink Into the Sunlight

by Arcinia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Draco Malfoy, Draco and Hermione like to banter, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Mental Health Issues, probably some smut? who knows, this is my first fic and I don't know what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29544396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcinia/pseuds/Arcinia
Summary: Draco didn’t believe that anything could surprise him anymore.But seeing her there, bent over the covered vegetable stall of the main street with a red umbrella held above her, was so startling that he nearly vomited. At first, he hadn’t thought it was her -- the chance that someone from his past had coincidentally wandered into the town that was his home now was too much for him to consider. He had seen her nearly every day at school for six years, then for his Eighth Year (with the few incidents in between that he would rather not think about), and though he was loath to admit it, he knew the features of her face well after that long.From as far as he was -- half a block down and through the rain -- he had convinced himself it couldn’t possibly be her, and was about to turn into the shop he had originally been meaning to enter before his distraction, when he heard her familiar voice, laughing politely at something the old woman who managed the vegetable stand had said. As he rotated himself back in their direction, he noticed the Gryffindor red and gold scarf wrapped around her neck, her curls spilling over it in waves.Hermione Granger.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Sink Into the Sunlight

_Outside for the first time, in a long time; lose yourself, sink into the sunlight. It’s been awhile since you’ve felt right, but the warm nights are coming soon, and you’ll be just fine._

Draco didn’t believe that anything could surprise him anymore.

But seeing her there, bent over the covered vegetable stall of the main street with a red umbrella held above her, was so startling that he nearly vomited. At first, he hadn’t thought it was her -- the chance that someone from his past had coincidentally wandered into the town that was his home now was too much for him to consider. He had seen her nearly every day at school for six years, then for his Eighth Year (with the few incidents in between that he would rather not think about), and though he was loath to admit it, he knew the features of her face well after that long. 

From as far as he was -- half a block down and through the rain -- he had convinced himself it couldn’t possibly be her, and was about to turn into the shop he had originally been meaning to enter before his distraction, when he heard her familiar voice, laughing politely at something the old woman who managed the vegetable stand had said. As he rotated himself back in their direction, he noticed the Gryffindor red and gold scarf wrapped around her neck, her curls spilling over it in waves.

_Hermione Granger._

Draco’s heart leapt into his throat as he thought her name, and under his thin gloves he felt his hands begin to sweat; his right, which was holding his black umbrella, began shaking a bit. 

He was rooted to the sidewalk, the sound of rain hitting the concrete growing louder in his ears, and he could feel himself breathing faster, nostrils flaring, trying to regain control of his lungs and heartbeat --

A car drove past him on the street, the sound of the engine snapping him from his panic, and he watched as she looked up from the bundle of carrots in her hand. He thought he saw her warm gaze land on him for the smallest of moments prior to moving behind her to look at the street, but he couldn’t be sure, and before he could think any farther on it, he had turned on his heel and began quickly walking back the way he had come. 

~*~

As Draco neared his house, he took deep breaths, counting to seven as he held each one, exhaling to eight, then breathing in and doing it again. 

It was almost always raining in the village he lived in. The downpours were the persistent cloudy weather, growing stronger and then receding throughout the day like waves on a shore, but ever present. He didn’t mind it at all, as the rain brought him a kind of peace that he had forgotten about -- the peace of a grey day, of constant sound in the form of droplets hitting the ground, trees, and roofs surrounding him. The cold bothered him almost always, but it was the price he paid for his peace.

Draco was afraid that would change now.

He didn’t know why Granger was here. Did she work for the Ministry? Was she tasked with checking up on him, to ensure he wasn’t taking part in any illegal or unethical activities? Was she here to find a reason to arrest him if he wasn’t? Had the Ministry decided to round up the few Death Eaters that had escaped their grasp, Harry Potter’s word and his mother’s singular good deed of the war no longer enough to keep him safe? 

His breathing was becoming labored again as the thoughts and possibilities swirled around in his head. He stopped walking, right under a branch of a full tree that hung over the sidewalk, no longer feeling the urge to _just_ _get away_ as he had on the main street when he saw Hermione Granger for the first time in four years. The rain was picking up again, just slightly, and he folded his umbrella in to hold it by the curved handle as he pondered, reaching with his other hand to run his thumb along the piercings of his ear (an anxious habit he found himself doing often), looking up to watch the water fall from one leaf to another, then plunging towards the sidewalk below.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew that he had come here to run away. He had wanted to exist somewhere that not everyone knew his name and the terrible things that came with it; without receiving threatening letters at the manor; without worrying about not being about to go anywhere risk someone noticed him, and everyone _did_ notice him; he didn’t want to read mention of the saviors of the wizarding world and every aspect about their lives. 

Draco had really only stayed for his mother. For the two years after his Eighth Year, he had resided in the manor with her and endured the hatred of the world around him. Though he longed for peace and simplicity and freedom, he knew that he deserved it. His courage had died in the face of fear, consumed by a tattoo that he could never rid himself of, the awareness that on either side of the war, he had done nothing but run. Had his mother not loved him more than she feared death, he knew he would be rotting in Azkaban alongside his father and so many others. 

After he had left the world he had known and loved, he had found this muggle village -- so small that he could walk from one end to the other within an hour, radiating a charm and kindness to it that could only come from being so isolated, with days perpetually grey as his life had become, and simple without many worries. He enjoyed the people around him, and the bakery that sold fresh bread every morning, and the wildlife that he’d find picking in his garden, and the singular book shop that served the best hot chocolate he had ever tasted, magically produced included. 

He had been trying to live without bringing more pain that he already had into the world, and he had felt like he was doing an honest job of it. If so, then why was Granger here? 

Draco felt a droplet hit his cheek, and the cold shocked him from his contemplation. He raised his gloved hand and wiped his face, then unfolded his umbrella and continued walking. His thoughts were beginning to bring on a throb in the front of his forehead, so he resolved to finish his trek without any more, and instead focused on the sound of his boots hitting the wet concrete and the shiver of leaves in the wind. 

As he neared the end of the block, he could spot his small cottage a bit aways, with its grey stone chimney alongside the door facing the short fence out front. The windows on either side of the chimney were narrow but tall, which allowed for the living room to be a delightfully warm and well lit reading spot in the early hours of the morning. The house was an atrocious pale yellow with balding spots of natural wood where it had worn down in its years; he had plans to paint over it later in the week, and reminded himself that he needed to choose a paint color. 

The latch for the gate inside the yard was rusted, and he had to jiggle it a bit to get it to let off. He winced a bit at the squealing of the hinges as he let himself through, then shut it closed behind him before making his way on the cobblestones to the front door, folding his umbrella and tucking it under his arm. As he turned the faded knob to step inside, Draco was reminded of how odd he had found that it was considered normal here to leave your homes unlocked, whether you were there or not; where wizards had wards, muggles had heavy bolts. The longer he had stayed in this village, however, he had come to understand it a bit, and even began taking part in the practice himself -- everyone knew everyone here, and the trust of the neighbors between each other was implicit; though Draco wouldn’t say that he trusted his neighbors, he didn’t _not_ trust them, and all of his interactions had been pleasant enough. Not mentioning, however, that he didn’t feel he had anything much of value in his home that would tempt anyone into entering uninvited. 

_Including yourself._

He shut the door behind him and set his umbrella against the wall, and unbuttoned his black overcoat, threading his arms from it, then moving behind the door to hang it from his coat rack in the corner. His boots dripped onto the dark hardwood, and he quickly removed them and left them to dry on the mat beside the coat rack, before pulling off his gloves and hanging them from a hook on the wall.

Draco turned to the fireplace, his thick socks quieting his footsteps, and noticed that the embers were still burning bright though a flame was absent, then sat on his haunches as he worked to bring the fire back to life with the small wood stack to the right of the brick. 

As he watched the flames dance and flicker, he let himself fall back until he met the floor, then brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, his chin settling on top. His mind was wandering back to Granger. 

He hadn’t seen her since his last day at Hogwarts, on Platform 9 ¾ after the train had been emptied. His mother had not been able to meet him, as she was confined to the manor by her probation. Although, he suspected that as much as she loved him, she may not have come even if she had been able. The attitudes of nearly the entire wizarding community held nothing but disdain for the remaining Malfoys, and it wouldn’t be surprising that it was taken out on her; despite her ‘test of bravery’, Shacklebolt had called it, she was not redeemed by most. Her gift for her act had been that her family would avoid Azkaban, but saving the life of The Boy Who Lived only extended so far -- and so, while Draco and Narcissa were indeed spared going to Azkaban, the same could not be said of Lucius, who would be confined to the prison until his last breath. 

He had meant to get off the train and immediately escape the crowds through the barrier to meet with a car outside the front of the station (he wasn’t permitted to apparate, nor travel by Floo), but the gathering of ginger with a single dark head had caught his eye, and he had found himself slowing to watch as quite possibly the entire Weasley family, plus Potter, swarmed two passengers coming off the train in an array of hugs and greetings and cheek kisses. As the group settled, he caught sight of Granger, standing next to youngest of the family, on whose shoulders sat Potter’s arm, with Weasley completing the circle, his back to Draco. 

She had been wearing a slim lilac tee and dark muggle denims, and black sneakers that looked as if they had seen their share of years. Her dark hair had been pulled up high into what had looked like an attempted ponytail, her curls wayward, with flyaways framing her face. Her smile was large and genuine, eyes bright as she spoke to her friends, and Draco was hit very suddenly with an overwhelming sense of jealousy. 

His hands trembled, his heart beat in his ears, and he couldn’t tell if the emotion driving his reaction was anger or sadness or regret; maybe it was all three and more. The overwhelming understanding that he would never have a welcome as that, because of his choices and his father’s choices and his mother’s choices -- it shook him. 

He had entered Hogwarts an excited, arrogant child who believed his family was part of greater blood, and was leaving it as an anxious, jaded man without even anyone to pick him up from the station. 

Hermione had caught his eyes as he stared at them, and lifted her arm to wave to him, timidly, with what almost looked like the smallest of smiles, but she was too far away to tell; the surprise must have been perceptible on his face, the face that he always so carefully schooled into disinterest, even more so with the end of the war. He nodded ever slightly, and as she lowered her hand, he noticed the white bandage wrapped around her forearm.

The anxiety hit him again with a force so heavy he almost stumbled, before he turned and walked so quickly through the barrier away from her that he was nearly running.

In the entire year, he was sure he had never had any interactions with Granger past occasionally catching her eye across the Great Hall or a classroom, and she had certainly not spoken to him. Despite that, he was willing to think that small interaction with her was perhaps the most friendly encounter he had experienced his final year at Hogwarts. 

The memory reminds him now that even though he had, at the very end, summoned enough courage to have chosen the ‘good side’, he had lost everything worth being good in his life. 

He is gently woken from his thoughts to the sound of softly padding feet, and a moment later, a nudge to his shin. 

“Hello, Binx.”

He unfurls his arms and brings his legs down to cross them, where a small, black cat proceeds to lay, staring up at him with her piercing green eyes. 

Draco brings his right hand up to gently scratch behind her ears, his left arm angled behind him to prop himself up. Binx meows at him woefully, her eyes large and unblinking.

“You must be starved, sweet girl,” he says as he rubs his finger under her chin, “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

He dramatically swoops the cat into his arms as he propels himself upward, her purring a comforting rumble beneath his hands as he moves them to the kitchen. It’s a simple space, small, with wood grain cabinets and an old white countertop. The oven is gas, which took Draco an embarrassing amount of tinkering to figure out how to use, and the fridge is of undeterminable age and makes an odd whirring sound ever so often, but he finds it works well enough. 

Draco sets her next to her empty bowl, and she meows again, insistent, as he lifts the dish up to fill it from the container beside him that houses her dry food. Draco had never owned a pet before, much less a being as emotional as Binx turned out to be; he had been under the impression that cats were meant to be independent, and fairly aloof to their humans, but Binx was the opposite of that. She clung to him wherever he went in the small house they shared, taking any chance she could to curl up to him, and she responded to nearly every remark or question he voiced aloud. Her presence was a comfort to him, and he admitted that he was much more fond of her than anything else he had met in his life, save for his mother (possibly -- at best, they were tied neck and neck for his affection). 

He is evidently taking too long to deliver her dinner, as Binx meows loudly at him again, and he shushes her, muttering, “I’m going, I’m going.” as he puts it down. 

As Binx settles into her meal, Draco heads back to the warmth of the fire to resume his thoughts. He thinks of Granger again, the glimpse he saw of her on the main street -- her wild curls and Gryffindor scarf, bright eyes and pink cheeks. He still isn’t sure if she noticed him, or noticed it was _him_ ; but he knows the quick wit of her mind, and he wonders if it’s even possible that she didn’t. He would imagine, without giving himself too much credit, that he is as recognizable to her as she is to him, even if it is in dislike -- though, thinking back on the day on the platform, she must not dislike him if she was willing to interact with him so, small as it was. As little as he knows of her, he knows that she isn’t deceiving. She wears her heart on her sleeve, as most Gryffindors do, and he thinks begrudgingly that it’s what made her so easy to harass when they were in school.

His anxiety over her presence has dulled its edges, now that the shock of her has worn a bit, but he can feel it ready to sharpen at any moment. Draco has no doubt that the Ministry has always known where he ran away to, and now that he’s thought about it, he’s surprised they haven’t sent anyone to look after him or check on him sooner. Thinking on it more, he doesn’t believe if he were to be arrested that they would have sent Granger -- he doesn’t know what course she put her life on after their Hogwarts days had passed, but an Auror doesn’t seem to fit her. 

He saw her during the Battle, bruised and bloodied and resolute, unflinching and lionhearted -- but he had also witnessed the aftermath of that terrible but great day, when the bodies upon bodies of her friends who had become her family were laid before her; when she fell to her knees and her cries echoed off the walls of the Great Hall, a song of sorrow that she sang in harmony with those who too were mourning someone gone from this world; he saw her later, when the presence of his parents and the grief of the Hall became too much and he left to wander the corridors he had called home for so many years, and began following a steady pound echoing somewhere in the Third-Floor Corridor, only to find Granger beating the stone wall with her fists, red running through her knuckles and crystal tears pouring down her face, silent save for the air forced from her lungs with each impact her brones cracked against the rock. 

She hadn’t seen him then, either.

No, Draco couldn’t see her investing herself into a career that could make her such a close companion with death again.

He finds it odd, suddenly, how sure he is of this. His interactions with her when they were younger were far from friendly -- and yet, can you spend nearly nine months of a year, for six years, with the same person in your constant peripheral, and not get to know them to some degree? He supposed that it’s probably that way for most people; he and Granger are not most people. 

She, the best friend of the saviour of the wizarding world, Brightest Witch of Her Age, the brains behind the bravery that was Harry Potter; and he, the spoiled brat of one of the richest and most luxurious wizarding families for the last thousand years, proud and eagerly awaiting the future his father carved for him, only for him to discover that the dream his father had once spoken so highly of was his worst nightmare.

Draco startles slightly as Binx suddenly nudges his leg again, much more forcefully than she had earlier. It seems that she can always sense when he starts thinking too much, when his thoughts start swirling back to darkness, red eyes staring back at him. 

He reaches his hand out to stroke behind her ears with his fingers, and she closes her green eyes in content, a purr rumbling into her chest. Around him, the room has gone black save for the light of the small fire in front of him, and he realizes that he’s been there much longer than he meant to be -- but he supposed that’s what happens when he gets lost in his own head. It’s as if he can physically feel the swirling of his thoughts in his skull, and he feels drained after working through so many emotions in the last hours of the day. 

“Is it time for bed?” he quietly asks Binx as she opens her eyes to him. His voice, small though it is, feels too large for the space, the ever present song of rain falling outside the walls of his home.

As he pushes himself from the hardwood to stand, his knees crack, and he can feel the ache in his lower spine from sitting too long. Before he leaves, he deftly places a few more hearty logs atop the fire, then moves to follow Binx as she lightly walks ahead of him; down the short hallway and through the only door on the left, she leaps gracefully onto his bedspread to wait for him. Though it’s much earlier than he typically goes to sleep, he has a sinking feeling that for tonight, he will likely have to account for the dreams visiting him again. 

He turns on no lights as he undresses from his jumper and trousers, and redresses into clothing more appropriate for sleeping in a house with a furnace that hardly operates. He crawls underneath the thick, Slytherin-green blanket -- a part of his home he couldn’t seem to let go of, and the exact color of which he had a hard time finding in muggle shops-- and Binx moves to curl against his chest as he maneuvers to lay on his side, placing a hand softly against her spine, rubbing his thumb along her fur. 

As Draco’s mind begins to quiet, his eyes falling shut and lashes brushing his cheeks, his breathing slowing, making him ever more aware of his heart beating in his chest, and Binx lulling him with her purrs, he has a last thought before drifting off -- 

Draco knew, nonetheless of his fears or any one of surmises running through his head, that if Granger was there to take him, he would not fight; he didn’t want to; he couldn’t, even if he _did_ want to. 

He had snapped his own wand two years prior.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting a work that's my own. I thought of this and started writing it while listening to Daylily by Movements. I wanted a way to convey the places it put into my head and the emotions is evoked, and this is where that ended up. I'm very fluid and indecisive, so even chapter counts are out of anything I've planned, though I do have a decent idea of the storyline. This whole thing is a new experience for me, but I want to try my best. Thank you for reading!


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